With Friends Like This
by SpiritualJusticeWarrior
Summary: Three times Ricky brushed off his self-harming as a meekly interesting hobby, and the one time somebody wouldn't let him. Or, Ricky is forced to stop blanketing everything in humor and sex and confront the severity of his depression. Oneshot.


**1**

They were in bed together when Adrian first noticed his cuts.

They were glaring at her the second he slipped his shirt off, a series of irritated red wounds, long and deep. They were a day old, she guessed, maybe two. Ricky didn't seem to notice her sudden hesitance. He smirked that cocky little half-mouthed everything-revolves-around-me smirk, leaning in to recapture Adrian's mouth. She dodged him. Slender fingers came up to trace his abdomen.

"Oh, that?" Ricky huffed in laughter. The mirth didn't reach his eyes. "I was hopping a fence, caught my shirt. Don't worry about it."

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

"You really want me to answer that?"

Adrian shoved him off. Ricky huffed again as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and began shimmying back into her jeans.

"Oh, come on!" Ricky purred, lounging back on the bed. "It was a joke. Geez, you gotta be so sensitive?"

Adrian turned back to him, fully planning to blow up on him – but something in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat.

There was a small inkling, under all that arrogance and gleam, of fear. It was hidden well. Ricky was good at hiding things, always had been. But she was better at digging up bones than he was at burying them.

"I can tell when you're lying, you know." She popped a hip out and folded her arms across her now-covered chest. "And _why_ you're lying. This wasn't any accident. Somebody..."

Adrian recoiled suddenly as a horrifying thought came to mind.

"Oh my God...Ricky, did your _f_ _ather_ do this to you?!" She squealed. "While he was here, before Jack caught him – did he hurt you? Did he – oh, God...oh, my God, Ricky, did he -"

"No!" Ricky bellowed, cutting her off before she could finish the thought. He jolted out of his comfortable position, pressing his knees into her mattress and laying his hands on her shoulders. "No, he didn't even get that close to me, okay? And I would have told you...maybe...probably not. Look, nobody else did this to me, okay? I promise." Adriana searched his eyes. Realization dawned slowly on her face. Ricky knew the look; her eyebrows crinkled and her mouth fell open a little bit. He hated that look. "Okay, what? What did I say now?"

"Nobody... _else_ did this to you?" Adrian said. "You didn't say nobody did this to you. You said nobody _e_ _lse_."

"Yeah, okay, so what?"

"Did you..." Two hands came up to cradle his face. Her voice, always so rough and sarcastic, was soft. "Ricky, did you hurt yourself on purpose?"

And it was true, of course. Adrian knew it. The brief moment of naked emotion that crossed his face as he switched from his amused mask to his angry mask confirmed that.

"What?" Ricky shoved her hands away. "No! No, what do you think I am, crazy?"

"I don't know! Are you?" There was no venom in her words, no sting to her bite. "Because cuts like that don't just show up on people. Those are really deep and they're not jagged. A fence wouldn't cut you like that. Those were made on purpose."

"Stop it," Ricky whispered through clenched teeth. She saw the fog rolling in over his eyes, saw his curtains pulling tight and his doors locking, shutting her out. "Stop, okay? Not tonight."

Adrian let her hand weave its way into his hair, cradling the back of his head. She pushed gently, a suggestion for once and not a demand. Ricky hesitated. Then, slowly, his head feel, his nose coming to rest at the crook where her neck and her shoulder met. His shaky exhale ghosted across her skin.

Knowing this was the last she'd hear of the matter, and knowing it would be a long time – if ever – before he allowed this kind of vulnerability to be showcased again, Adrian allowed her hand to slip from his hair to his back, rubbing soothing circles on his warm, bare skin as he relaxed against her.

After all, who was the booty call to get involved?

* * *

 **2**

" _Did you get into a fight?"_

Tom looked at him in shock, and what Ricky suspected was a hint of disapproval. He suddenly realized that maybe he should have worn a shirt to the pool. And, perhaps, that taking Tom to the pool was not one of the best ways to get into Grace's...well, good graces...in the first place.

"No, Tom," Ricky smiled, as if the idea of him fighting was ridiculous, which it really wasn't. "Of course I didn't get into a fight, don't you know me better than that?"

"Then what _did_ happen?" Tom crossed his arms over his chest. "You'd better not be dragging Grace into trouble. I won't stand for that!"

Ricky threw his arms up in exasperation.

"Geez, why does everyone keep asking what happened?" He complained. "I keep telling everyone, I was...my shirt got caught on a fence, okay? It ripped, and scratched me. It's nothing."

"Were you sneaking around with Grace?" Tom's voice raised a couple of octaves, like it did when he went all big-brother. "Because I -"

"Yeah, yeah." Ricky waved him off. "You won't stand for that, I know. And I was _not_ sneaking around with her. I wasn't sneaking around, period! Don't you know -"

"Yeah, yeah, don't I know you better than that?"

Despite himself, Ricky smiled, genuinely this time. Tom was a good kid. There were some worse ways to spend a Saturday.

"I sure hope you do," he said with as much sincerity as he could muster. He clapped the older man on the back. "Now, what do you say we get swimming? Bet I can lap you."

Tom held one hand in the hair, palm outward in a 'stop' gesture. "I have another question first." Ricky shrugged.

"Yeah, anything, shoot."

"Are you sad?"

Ricky froze. What the hell kind of question was that? Was he _sad_? Who knew? Who cared? Why did _Tom_ care?

 _Was_ he sad?

That one, he didn't have an answer for.

"You shouldn't hurt yourself. It's not healthy," Tom continued. "And I know, because I'm smarter than you think."

"Yeah," Ricky said. His voice cracked. He cleared his throat roughly. "Yeah, man, I know. You are smart. You're, um...you're actually really smart. Thanks for the advice. But, uh..." he raised a finger to his lips. "Don't tell Grace about this. Just for now, okay? I, um...want to tell her myself." Tom seemed as if deep in thought for a moment.

"Okay," he finally agreed. "You'll tell Grace. I won't tell Grace. And...then you'll learn to not be so sad."

Maybe. Probably not. Highly unlikely.

"Yeah, I'll tell her. Thanks."

 _No chance in hell._

* * *

 **3**

It was getting harder to hide now. That probably had something to do with the array of tic-tac-toe boards littering his wrists. And it was probably – well, no, definitely – all his fault. He was an idiot. A stupid, pathetic, worthless –

Anyway.

It was hard to wear a sweater in eighty degree weather. It was almost as hard to come up with excuses as to _why_ he was wearing a sweater in eighty degree weather. But, then again, he'd been lying to everyone about everything for practically his entire life. What was another white lie or two, right?

Right?

Maybe he shouldn't have been standing in the Juergens' bathroom, in front of the mirror with his sleeves rolled up, studying and hating every angle and attribute of himself. Maybe he should have been in the living room, discussing the baby – the baby Amy had finally, finally decided to keep – and smiling. Smiling, smirking, flirting. He was supposed to do things like that, things he was good at. It helped sometimes, pretending to be someone else.

Then again, sometimes it didn't.

Stupid. Pathetic. Worthless –

Ricky grinned at his reflection, dashing and arrogant. Not stupid. Not pathetic. Not worthless. Not damaged goods, not Ricky Underwood. Not a cutter. Never.

The door creaked open. Ricky hurried to roll down his sleeves, but by the time he'd registered being intruded upon, Amy was there. In the doorway. Staring at him. Or, more specifically, staring at his arms.

They weren't easy to hide. Sure, some of the scars were weeks old, and were already fading into white-brown tissue – but others were hours old, one deep and still oozing, all of them a bright, angry red. His secret, stupid secret though it was, would now come out.

Oh, Adrian was going to have a field day of I-told-you-so's with this one.

"Wha...I'm, I—I didn't, um, know you were...uh, in here..." Amy stuttered. Normally, she would turn a bright red, even redder than his wounds, at accidentally walking in on him in the bathroom (regardless of his fully clothed state.) She didn't. If anything, she grew paler. "Ricky..." she breathed, taking a hesitant step forward. Her eyes were firmly fixed on the artistic hobby painted across his upper limbs. She reached a hand out as if to touch them

Suddenly extremely self-concious and more than a little angry – with her or with himself, he hadn't decided yet – Ricky finished unfurling his sleeves and edged around Amy, who stood frozen in the doorway.

"Amy?" Ben rose from the couch, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at me as I passed. "What's wrong, Amy? Are you okay?"

"She's fine and nothing's wrong," I said shortly. I snatched my phone from the coffee table. "I have to go."

"Go?" Ben asked incredulously, turning his attention on me. "We've barely started talking. If you want to be responsible for this baby with us, you're going to have to be a little more involved, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I know, okay?" I snapped. "I just have to go."

A very angry, very pregnant, very pale Amy stomped back into the room.

"Don't you dare leave," she said with shaking hands and voice. "You can't leave. This...isn't okay, Ricky. Not at all. We have to talk about this."

Ricky scoffed.

"Don't pretend you suddenly give a damn," he said. He intended for it to be intense, but his voice cracked and he suddenly felt nauseated and he _really needed to leave._

"Wha—talk about what? What's going on?"

" _Can you both just shut up?"_

They were staring. Great. Just great. He would make a great father, wouldn't he? A formerly sexually abused son of two drug addicts, a cutter, who would surely be willing to hurt somebody else if he was willing to hurt himself.

"I should just go," Ricky croaked. His eyes misted and he turned away, his hands locked behind his neck. "See you guys at school. Bye."

"Ricky, wait –"

A small hand grabbed his elbow. Without looking, he pulled out of her grasp. She didn't try again.

Stupid. Pathetic. Worthless. Damaged goods.

Damaged goods.

* * *

 **+1**

Ben was an asshole. A really, unrealistically nice asshole. At least he waited until the halls were clear.

"Hey," he said, quickly approaching from the other end of the empty hall. Ricky scoffed. That familiar anger began to override.

"She told you, didn't she?" He ranted furiously. "Forget it, of course she told you. She tells you everything."

Ben stopped in front of him. "Yeah, well, we _are_ in love."

Ricky laughed dryly. "I'm not jealous, if that's what you're thinking. I don't care. I'm seeing Adrian."

Ben blinked, raising his hands in a surrender-type gesture.

"Whoa, hey," he said incredulously. "Chill out. That's not what I meant." He lowered his hands and his eyes, shrugging one shoulder. "But...yeah, she told me. Look, um..."

Ricky slammed his locker door shut, turning to face the other teen. Ben jumped. The sound echoed off the walls.

"Just save it," he snapped, his eyes growing cold. "I know you hate me, I know Amy hates me, and I know I'm the evil, heartless villain in this little equation. I get it. You want me to stay away? No problem. I'll stay away. Enjoy your perfect little family portrait."

Normally, at this point, that would be the end of that. That was where Adrian gave up, where Tom gave up, where Amy had given up just last night and let him walk away without another word. He was used to people letting him walk away. He supposed he just wasn't the type of guy people found worthy of fighting for.

The shock of a lifetime was nigh: Ben fought.

He grasped Ricky's arm as he tried to shoulder past. His grip was much tighter than Amy's – surprisingly tight for such a scrawny dude.

"I want to help," Ben said, and that was the biggest surprise of all. "I know we're not friends, but I know people you can talk to, like, people who've been through it, you know? And there are...suicide hotlines, and -"

"I'm not suicidal!" Ricky howled, ripping his arm from Ben's hand. He looked at the other guy as if he was the one who'd lost his mind. "What, are you crazy? Just because I'm an emo freak, I'm gonna kill myself? There are a hundred emo freaks at this school. Go _'help_ ' one of them."

"None of them are the father of the girl I love's baby," Ben said pointedly. He was cool, calm and collected. His sudden bout of maturity only fueled Ricky's growing hysteria. "I know you don't like me – I'm not so crazy about you – but you need help, and Amy's going to need your help with this kid. So you _need_ to get help. We're gonna need you around."

"Oh, I get it," Ricky said. "Yeah. Of course this isn't about me. Amy, right. Everything's about Amy. If it wasn't for her, we wouldn't be talking right now, would we?"

"Ricky..."

"Listen closely." Ricky took a step closer and Ben pretended not to notice the watery quality to his eyes. "I'm _not_ going to kill myself, I _am_ going to help with my son, and _we are not talking about this_. We are _not_ friends, and you don't care. Understand?"

"We could be."

Ricky blinked. "What?"

"Well, friends," Ben said, like it was obvious. "We could be friends. If you wanted, I mean."

"You really are crazy," Ricky grinned. "We can't be friends. Aren't you scared I'm gonna go for your girl?"

"Amy's not stupid. She can block your shots." Ben sighed. "Okay, so, maybe we can't be friends. We don't have to be friends for me to help you."

"Help me, so you can have help with the baby."

"Something like that, yeah."

"When did you get so cocky?"

"Guess you're rubbing off on me."

Ricky rubbed furiously at his face. His hands came away wet. "God, you're such a wuss."

"You're the one crying," Ben said. He lifted a hand as if to place it on Ricky's shoulder, then thought better of it. "Come on. Let me help."

"What's in it for you?" Ricky asked. "You don't like changing diapers? Is that gonna be my job?"

Ben perked up.

"I hope you're offering, because I...really know nothing about diapers," he admitted. Ricky pushed down the rising grin.

"I'm a foster kid, I know how to change diapers," Ricky said. "I'll show you."

The suspicion didn't fade. Ricky's wall did not fall. His curtains were up, windows covered, doors locked. Ben could see that well enough. He also watched as his defenses got just a little bit weaker, a little bit more eroded than they had been only a few minutes before.

That wasn't the finale of this whole grand adventure, wasn't the outcome Ben had hoped for, but it was progress. And it was good enough for now.

But he was going to take Ricky up on those diaper-changing lessons – he really didn't know anything about babies.


End file.
